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      MARIE FERRARELLA

      This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA^® Award-winning author has written over 150 books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

      To Bobbie Cimo and books that have yet to be written.

      Fondly, Marie

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 1

      To the untrained ear, it sounded very much like a car, backfiring. To the Cavanaugh ear, the noise sounded exactly like what it was.

      A gunshot.

      The shot was followed by several more rounds, fired in rapid succession.

      Standing at the edge of the steps leading to the county courthouse, Janelle Cavanaugh automatically began turning in the direction of the sound, even as it was drowned out by screams and cries of distress and fear. She never completed the turn because, the next thing she knew, she was pushed to the ground so quickly the very air rushed out of her lungs.

      Startled, she still had the presence of mind to protect her head as she went down. This kept a concussion from becoming part of her medical history.

      A man’s body spread over the length of hers. A heavy body. Heavy, not in the sense that the person on top of her was fat, or even large boned. Just tall and muscular. And damn near overwhelming.

      At first, she thought the man had been shot and was slumped over her. But then she felt his breath against the side of her face and along her neck. Whoever this lead weight was, he didn’t breathe like a man struggling for air, or even one particularly taken aback by the preceding events.

      “Stay down,” the deep male voice ordered harshly when she tried to move. He made her think of a marine drill sergeant, one who took no prisoners, brooked no nonsense. She wondered if that was to mask his fear, or if he just liked bullying people.

      Straining, Janelle listened. Growing up with three rambunctious brothers and seven cousins, most of whom were male, she had perfected the ability to hone in on sounds and isolate them. Amid the sounds of panic, she picked out the silence.

      No more gunshots.

      “Whoever was shooting’s gone,” she informed the man, who was covering her almost as closely as a lid fit over a pot. A man who, for all she knew, was just taking advantage of the situation, playing hero while he copped a feel. “So if you have the slightest notion of what’s good for you, you’ll get off me.”

      “A simple ‘thank you’ will do,” the man growled in her ear.

      The next moment, she felt his weight lessening. Her human shield rose to his feet and then offered her a hand. He did not offer her a smile.

      Janelle felt a wave of antagonism rising up inside her. She ignored the hand, preferring to get up on her own power.

      She was well-acquainted with the workings of a male mind and she could spot chauvinism. It was right there in the man’s deep blue eyes. Janelle might have tossed her head a little as she got up. She was sorry she’d worn her blond hair up. The sight of a long mane flying over a shoulder always managed to underscore the look of disdain in her eyes.

      Straightening her jacket, Janelle took in a deep breath. As the youngest of the chief of detectives’ children and, at twenty-nine, the youngest assistant to the assistant district attorney in Aurora, Janelle was acutely aware that she was the target of a great deal of attention, not usually the welcomed sort.

      She had, however, never been a target in the traditional sense of the word before.

      You’re not one, now, she told herself. This probably has nothing to do with you.

      Still, she glanced down to make sure no holes existed in her anatomy that hadn’t been there before she’d walked out through the courthouse’s electronic doors. Her body felt numb—probably from having a lumpy torso land on it—but there was no searing pain. And other than smudges of dirt, she didn’t have a mark on her.

      When she looked up again, she saw that the man who’d thrown himself over her like a human blanket was doing the same. Checking her out. Slowly. She could almost feel his eyes pass coolly over her.

      Janelle raised her chin. She was tempted to ask if he was looking for something. Or if he liked what he saw. But that would be opening herself up to a lot of things she didn’t have time to deal with. The word busy in the dictionary came with her picture beneath it.

      “Thank you,” she said crisply, finally responding to his admonishment. She would have gotten around to thanking the lug for making like a superhero and she didn’t appreciate being prompted.

      Just the barest hint of a smile curved a mouth that seemed more accustomed to frowning. “Too bad today’s not one of those

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